Thicker Than Water: A Laurel Highlands Mystery

By Liz Milliron

Pennsylvania State Trooper Jim Duncan responds to a call regarding a missing autistic young man. When the boy is quickly found, Jim thinks the case is closed...until the young man insists the police need to help a "sleeping blue lady" and leads them to a dead woman in an abandoned shack, clad in only h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best Books
• Release date: Sep 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685124410

Liz Milliron

A recovering technical writer, Liz Milliron is the author of The Laurel Highlands Mysteries and The Homefront Mysteries. Her most recent release, Thicker Than Water, is the sixth in the Laurel Highlands Mysteries series. Short fiction has appeared in multiple anthologies, including the Anthony-award-winning Blood on the Bayou, Mystery Most Historical, Fish Out of Water, A Guppy anthology, and the upcoming Mystery Most International. She is a member of Pennwriters, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, and The Historical Novel Society. Liz lives in Pittsburgh with her son and a very spoiled retired racer greyhound.

Book preview

Chapter One

Defense attorney Sally Castle hefted a box from the tottering pile in the middle of the room. She pulled open the neatly folded flaps. This appears to be your junk. She looked up.

Her partner, Tanelsa Parson, stood by the window, engrossed in her phone, her thumbs flying, completely oblivious to anything else.

Sally straightened and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Hey, T. You going to help unpack, or am I interrupting something?

Tanelsa looked up with a jolt and stuffed the phone in her back pocket. Nah, it’s just Lisa.

Something wrong? Lisa was Tanelsa’s wife, a small Asian woman with a personality much bigger than her five-foot-three frame. She normally didn’t communicate with Tanelsa while at work.

No, forget it. Tanelsa strode over to the box and looked inside. You’re right, that’s my shit. She lugged the box over to a dark wood desk in the corner and thumped it on the surface.

A box of accessories didn’t warrant such treatment. Seriously, are you okay? You’re not fighting with Lisa, are you?

No, we’re cool. Tanelsa pulled items from the box. Nobody told me I’d be packing and unpacking twice within two months when I accepted this gig.

Well, nobody told me there was a leak in the roof that would result in a cascade to rival Cucumber Falls, and the landlord would boot everyone out, either. The downpour of water didn’t quite match the size of the popular Laurel Highlands natural attraction, but indoors, the effect was much the same. At the time, Sally had a vision of visitors to southwestern Pennsylvania showing up to dance around in their bathing suits. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to see it happen. She’d found this place within days of starting her search and, thankfully, it had been empty, allowing them to sign the lease and start the moving process. All the big items and boxes were delivered yesterday, and today, Tuesday, they began the process of unpacking boxes. With any luck, they’d finish by tomorrow and be open for business. She figured she and Tanelsa had set a record for packing, moving, and unpacking in slightly more than two weeks.

Tanelsa emptied the box and tossed it in the pile by the door. At least the rent on this place is lower.

Yeah, but it’s farther away from the courthouse. What we gain in savings, we lose in visibility.

True. We get any new clients since we moved? Tanelsa peeked in another box. Hanging files. Where’d we decide to put the filing cabinet?

Sally waved at the opposite corner. "Over there. To answer your question, no. I’m still irritated that our former landlord wouldn’t let us hang a bigger We’ve Moved sign on the door. With all the construction work, I’m afraid no one will see it."

We’ll have to think of creative ways to spread the word. You posted it on our social media, right?

I did. Cross your fingers it works.

They worked until noon. The only conversation between them concerned ownership of box contents, how they wanted to arrange furniture, and where to put the all-important coffee pot. Sally glanced at her watch. What do you say we break for lunch?

I was hoping you’d say that. Do we order in or go grab a sandwich from the place down the street?

Before Sally could answer, a soft cough sounded behind her. Excuse me, are you the lawyers who used to have an office by the courthouse?

Sally turned to see their visitor. She was a redhead, not older than her early twenties. Designer clothing could not disguise a body that would make a Playboy model weep with envy. Her makeup and skin were flawless, with sooty eyelashes framing deep brown eyes. This was a girl who would draw attention in any room she walked into, but at the moment, a hesitancy hung over her like a heavy cloak. That’s us, Sally said. I’m Sally Castle. This is my partner, Tanelsa Parson. What’s your name?

Madison Tilgher. The girl’s voice was low-pitched, and it was easy to imagine her talking in sultry tones. People call me Maddie.

Nice to meet you, Maddie. How can we help?

She took in the half-unpacked room. I’m interrupting. I’m sorry. She turned to go.

No, wait. We were only talking about lunch. Sally glanced at Tanelsa.

Her partner waved her on and held her hand to her head, fingers mimicking a phone. What do you want? she mouthed.

Sally nodded. Get me a turkey on rye, with Swiss, brown mustard, lettuce, onion, and tomato. She darted after Maddie. Hey, hold on.

The girl had reached the door. I don’t want to keep you.

It’s okay. It’ll take a while for food to arrive. Why don’t we go in here? Sally gestured to the small conference room designated for client meetings. A long rectangular table took up most of the space. Sally removed two chairs from the stack in the corner. Please, have a seat.

Maddie hesitated, then sat and held a purse with the Michael Kors logo in her lap. I’m sorry to bust in on you like this. You must have just moved in.

This morning, to tell the truth. We signed the lease on Monday. You’re our first visitor in this space. Sally wished she could go grab a legal pad and pen, but she was afraid Maddie would disappear. Did you see our sign?

Yeah. The young woman clutched the handbag. Her manicure, like her makeup, was perfect. "I’m not even sure you can help me."

Why don’t you explain your situation, and I’ll be the judge of that? Sally was used to the hesitant type of client who wanted help, but either didn’t know how to ask or didn’t believe they deserved attention.

Maddie bit a plump lower lip. There’s this guy.

Friend, boyfriend, co-worker?

None of the above? Maddie gave a weak laugh. He’s…it’s complicated.

Okay, don’t worry about that now. What’s he done?

I want him to go away. But he insists on hounding me. He calls at all hours, when I’m in class, when I’m at the dorm, or even the library.

Sally leaned on the table. You’re a student?

Yes, a senior at St. Vincent College. Maddie paused. I’ve told him to beat it, but…

He doesn’t follow instructions. I get it. Maddie had a stalker. It didn’t matter the role in her life, at least not right now. Is he also a student?

No.

Has he hurt you?

Oh, gosh, no. But he says things, you know? I wouldn’t be surprised if I came out of class one day and he was waiting for me.

I see. Now Sally really wanted that pad. Have you tried contacting the police?

No. Maddie sent her deep-red hair flying with her head shake. I don’t think the cops could do anything. Like I said, he hasn’t hurt me.

You’d be surprised. Wait here. Let me get some paper so I can take some notes. I’ll be right back. Sally got up and went to her desk. Of course, that box hadn’t been unpacked yet. She yanked open ones containing books, files, and printer materials. Where were the office supplies?

As she found the one she was looking for, slit through the tape on the flaps, and pulled out a pad, she heard the front door open and shut. Maybe it was Tanelsa, but Sally suspected she knew what had happened. Sure enough, when she returned to the conference room, it was empty.

Chapter Two

Two days later, around one in the afternoon, Trooper Jim Duncan sped down New Salem Road, heading west from the Uniontown State Police barracks. What road are we looking for again?

His partner, Trooper Jenny Cavendish, sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked state Ford and consulted the sticky note in her hand. Stoney Point. Tell me again why we’re doing this?

Because I trust Aislyn McAllister. If she thinks something’s off, it is. He slowed and made the turn. This is probably a pretty place in the summer and early fall. Lots of trees.

Uh-huh. This is it. We’re looking for 29787. Cavendish brushed ash blonde hair out of her eyes. A missing person is not a crime, you know.

The left side of the road was open grass, brown and withered in the November chill typical of southwestern Pennsylvania. Leafless trees clawed toward a frosty blue sky on the right. Just keep your eyes open.

Less than two minutes later, Cavendish pointed. Right here.

Thanks for the warning. Duncan stomped on the brake just as he was about to drive past his destination and slewed the car into a finely-graveled driveway that ended at a farmhouse with an imposing wrap-around front porch, fresh white paint, and windows flanked by deep red shutters. He parked near a marked Ford Interceptor at the front of the house and got out. A big rhododendron bush, leaves tightly curled against the cold resided at the far end of the porch. Wilted hostas and the remains of the summer annuals dotted the black mulch of the front garden. He mounted the steps and noted the eye-hooks for a porch swing. The furniture was gone, but marks on the wood floor gave evidence of the chairs that must take up the space during the warmer months.

Cavendish followed. What has Trooper McAllister done to earn your trust?

She was my last trainee as an FTO when I worked patrol. Duncan used a shiny brass knocker attached to the dark red door to announce their presence.

You trust her because you trained her?

Duncan heard both skepticism and mirth in his partner’s voice. He didn’t turn. No, I trust her because she’s good.

The door opened, and Aislyn McAllister stood before him in a neatly pressed gray uniform. She’d taken off her campaign hat, and her blonde curls, still not recovered from their summer-sun bleaching, were pulled back into a knot at the back of her head. McAllister stood only about five-foot-three, but had the compact build of an athlete. Anyone who underestimated her because of her size would be in for a rude awakening. Thank God, you made it. She waved them in.

Duncan made the introductions between the two women. What’s the problem? He watched as his partner and his protégé eyed each other, no doubt making whatever judgments women do when meeting each other.

If Sally didn’t have brown hair, I’d say you had a thing for blondes, Cavendish said.

Can we stay on topic and off the hair color of my women friends? The only way this situation could be worse was if his girlfriend, Sally Castle, were here. He could easily imagine her, Cavendish, and McAllister bonding together and discussing him.

McAllister snorted. If you insist. She pulled out her notebook. Let me catch you up before you meet the homeowner. At about ten o’clock this morning, Susan Hepworth, that’s the woman who lives here, reported her son, Noah Freeman, missing. He ate breakfast at seven-thirty, she saw him at the table at eight, but she’d been doing laundry and assumed he was playing video games, based on the noise from the living room television. When she checked, the game controller was on the floor, the game still on, and Noah was gone. She checked the surrounding houses before calling us.

Cavendish hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. Two hours, that’s not a long time. How old is this kid?

McAllister looked up from her notes. He’s nineteen, but he’s also autistic. High-functioning, according to Ms. Hepworth, but still a risk if he’s out on his own. Plus Dunlap Creek Lake is not far from here, and Noah doesn’t know how to swim.

Cavendish gave a low whistle. That changes things.

Yes, it does.

Duncan immediately thought of all the possible places such a person could hide and the potential tragic outcomes. You made all the usual calls? Got the right people involved?

Of course. McAllister flipped a page in her book. Searchers found him a little before noon, hiding in a shelter at Dunlap Creek Park. He was in full meltdown, kept flapping his hands, and showed a lot of the signs of distress common in autistic individuals. No one could get near him until Ms. Hepworth arrived. He appeared to be unharmed, a few scratches that could be attributed to crashing through the underbrush, but nothing serious. However, when we got him home, he kept talking about a sleeping lady. No one could get much sense out of him, not where he’d seen her or who this woman was. He just kept repeating ‘She’s sleeping, She’s sleeping, and she’s blue’ over and over again. When Ms. Hepworth suggested maybe it had all been his imagination, he got quite agitated.

Did you look for this sleeping lady?

I did, but nothing. Nobody else has seen anything like that. Ms. Hepworth seemed pretty confident that he’d imagined things.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he was found, Cavendish said. But I don’t understand why you called us.

McAllister’s eyes glinted, and she fixed Cavendish with an icy stare. He’s too insistent. Yeah, I get it. He’s not the best witness. But what if he’s right? Who in their right mind takes a nap, outside, in early November? Especially around here? There was a hard frost last night and there’s another warning on for tonight.

Duncan interceded. You’re suspicious.

That might be a little strong, but I’m concerned. McAllister flipped her notebook so it closed. I’d sent the K9 unit away, as well as everyone else, the first time we found him because all I had was the word of an unreliable witness about the woman. I couldn’t justify sending them out, especially when K9 got a call about a missing kid in Washington County. But if this other woman exists, based on Noah’s description, she’s dead or in serious trouble. Blue could be blue skin or lips. If she’s alive, it’s hypothermia for sure, and she’s in danger. If it’s because she’s dead, well, I think we ought to find her, don’t you?

Absolutely.

I did the best I could, but I didn’t see anything. No one I spoke to saw anyone like that. Noah was no help. Every time his mother or I mentioned it, he became agitated.

Duncan adjusted his jacket. I know you’ve tried, but I think the first step is to talk to Noah again. Maybe we’ll be able to coax some more information out of him.

McAllister shook her head. And there’s the problem.

The mother won’t let us? Cavendish asked.

No. McAllister slipped the notebook back into her pocket. Noah is missing. Again.

Chapter Three

Duncan exchanged a look with his partner before speaking. "What do you mean again ?"

Exactly what I said. McAllister didn’t sound happy. From the sour expression on her face, she’d already had this conversation and wasn’t looking forward to doing it a second time.

Cavendish crossed her arms. How do you lose a nineteen-year-old autistic boy twice in one day?

Turns out it’s not that hard, and Ms. Hepworth says it’s not normal for him, but not unusual, either. McAllister shrugged. We brought Noah home after finding him the first time. Ms. Hepworth left him in the kitchen with a cheese sandwich, some chips, and a glass of milk. Then she walked me to the door, said thank you. I told her I was glad he was safe, blah, blah. I was in my car writing up the call report and trying to decide what to do next about this phantom woman when she came pelting out of the house, white as a sheet. Instead of eating his lunch, Noah had left via the sliding glass doors in the kitchen and was nowhere to be found. He moves fast, I’ll tell you that. There are several fields around here. I checked them out, but I didn’t see anything. I also did a quick search of the nearest woods, nothing. I went back to the shelter near the lake where we found him the first time. Abandoned. So I gave up and called you.

Cavendish turned to Duncan. Not a great situation, but I repeat. A missing person is not a crime. We don’t know if this woman exists. It sounds harsh, but until and unless her body is found, there’s nothing for us to do here. It’s a job for search and rescue, not Criminal Investigation.

Time out. The mutinous look on McAllister’s face made Duncan step between the two women. McAllister, what exactly do you need?

She shot one last look at Cavendish. Ideas. Am I missing something?

Cavendish looked back at the younger woman. What about calling someone in search and rescue to help you find both people? Maybe the local fire department?

Duncan rubbed his chin. Let’s go talk to the mother.

Sue Hepworth sat at a butcher-block island, clutching a sodden tissue. Strands of her light-gray hair were plastered to her forehead, and her brown eyes red-rimmed. She looked to be in her mid-fifties. Her face had a few lines, and her figure was far from willowy, but it was obvious she’d been a good-looking woman in her youth. Did you find him?

No, ma’am. McAllister yanked a fresh Kleenex from a paisley-patterned box on the counter. I’d like to introduce you to Troopers Duncan and Cavendish. They’re from our Criminal Investigation Section.

Are you detectives? Have you come to search for my son?

The instant hope in her face cut Duncan’s heart. No, the state police doesn’t have that title, and we don’t usually conduct missing person searches. I’ve worked with Trooper McAllister in the past, and she asked me for advice. He pulled out a stool and sat next to Sue. Tell me what happened this morning, the first time Noah disappeared.

Sue dabbed her eyes and took a steadying breath. We had breakfast like we always do. I left Noah in the TV room, playing video games, while I went and started the laundry. He normally doesn’t move, but when I checked on him about half an hour later, he was gone. This was around nine-thirty. The front door was open. I called the neighbors, but no one had seen him. I searched for another hour or so, and then I called 911. Tears traced down her cheeks. I know he’s nineteen, and maybe it’s silly, but you don’t understand. He needs help. I can’t imagine the trouble he’d get in to if left on his own.

It’s not silly at all. Duncan glanced at McAllister. How’d you find him the first time?

Pure luck, she said. The K9 unit was in the woods and had led us to a ratty old cabin. It was locked up tight, but then I noticed a path. I followed it down to a little boat dock, and he was sitting there, staring at the water and talking to himself. We coaxed him back to the house. I dismissed everyone who was there and got ready to leave.

Autistic people often seek water when they are upset. I remember that from a training session we had a couple years ago. Duncan refocused on Sue. The second time, tell me what happened.

I shouldn’t have left him alone. She closed her eyes. I left him here in the kitchen. Watching TV. One of his favorite shows. I swear I locked the door. I went out into the driveway to talk to Trooper McAllister and thank her. We talked, oh, ten minutes? No more than fifteen. I came back into the house and heard the TV, so I assumed he was there. She pounded the wood. I should have checked! I went to move around some loads of laundry. It took less than five minutes. But when I looked into the kitchen, he was gone. Thank God Trooper McAllister hadn’t left yet.

Is it normal for Noah to run off like this? asked Cavendish.

Sue shrugged. "It’s hard to define normal. In general, he stays put. But if he gets bored, he’ll wander off. Or if he’s obsessed with something."

Like the sleeping lady. Noah wasn’t at the dock. Did you check the lake shore?

McAllister spread her hands. Only around the dock. I figured I needed backup for a thorough search.

What are we going to do? Sue asked. She buried her face in her hands. This is all my fault.

No, it’s not. Duncan looked at his partner. Cavendish, call Uniontown police. See if they have a K9 unit free since ours is out on another call.

She lifted her eyebrows. We aren’t in the city limits.

No, but in a case like this, I’m sure they’ll be happy to help. Then I want you to stay here with Ms. Hepworth in case Noah returns. He stood and pointed at McAllister. You’re with me. Show me this dock.

They walked from the house, through the woods across the street. Duncan picked his way through the trees, painfully aware that his wingtips were not the best footwear for the situation. Remind me to always carry a pair of boots with me.

Yeah, you’re not dressed for this kind of foray. McAllister grinned. What’s wrong with your partner? She always this uptight?

He pushed a bare tree branch out of his way. She doesn’t think this is a case for Criminal Investigation, that’s all. She’s right and we do have things to do back at the office. But I’m not gonna stand on formality when an at-risk teenager is MIA.

Thank God. McAllister pointed. That’s the dock.

The wood planking was well-aged and faded from the sun. Small gaps between the boards allowed the water to be seen. Duncan eyed the jagged wood of the handrail. An invitation for a splinter if he’d ever seen one. A dilapidated shack was next to the dock, and a pile of rope showed where a boat could be tied up, but this late in the season, it was gone. You said he was sitting on the dock?

Yep. She ran a hand over her head. Staring at the water, mumbling to himself. It was not easy to convince him to go with me. That’s the first time I heard he was talking about the sleeping lady.

Too bad he didn’t give you a location on her. Duncan scanned the horizon. No sign of life or watercraft. That cabin, did you try the door?

No, there’s a padlock on it.

He nodded. Is there an inlet to this lake?

Not sure. McAllister did her own visual survey. Over there, maybe? It’s pretty obscured, but there might be a small stream or something.

Let’s take a look. Keep your eyes peeled for footprints, broken branches, anything that would indicate a human passed through the area. He headed for the spot, careful to stay away from the shore, which looked fairly marshy. Yep, it’s not much this time of year, but it’s a trickle. Let’s see where it leads.

The water traced back into the woods. They followed it for about ten yards before McAllister pointed. There he is.

Noah Freeman sat on a boulder, arms tightly crossed against his chest. His eyes were closed, and his hair flopped over his forehead. A beam of sunlight glinted on the reddish locks. His lips moved in silent speech.

Stay here, Duncan said. He moved slowly, deliberately toward the boy. He hadn’t had a lot of interaction with autistic people, but he knew he had to be calm. Hey, Noah.

The teenager’s eyes flew open. No, no, no. He flapped his hands in clear distress.

Duncan stopped at least five feet away. No need to get excited. I’m a friend of your mom’s. She’s worried about you.

No, no, no.

Duncan looked around. There wasn’t anything to sit on, but he squatted so he was at Noah’s eye level. It’s okay. What are you doing out here?

Noah’s hands still fluttered, but he stopped speaking. He fixed Duncan with a suspicious stare.

How about this? Let’s go back where it’s warm. I bet your mom will have a good snack for you.

I gotta help her.

Okay, we can do that. Duncan shifted on the leaf mold, releasing a scent of decay. Who?

My friend, Maddie. She’s sleeping. I saw her before, but I didn’t recognize her. But now I did, and I can’t wake her up. I knocked on the window, but she didn’t hear me.

Where is she? I’ll see if I can help her.

Noah hesitated. Over there. He waved in the direction of the locked cabin.

Are you sure? I think that might be shut up for the season, Noah. Duncan pivoted. He could just see the building through the trees. The door is locked.

No, no, no. Noah shook his head, sending his hair flying. Maddie is sleeping. I can’t wake her up.

All right. Duncan stood and beckoned to McAllister. Here’s what we’re going to do. You stay with my friend Aislyn. I’m going to go see if I can help Maddie. Does that sound good?

Noah didn’t answer. He stared at Duncan with eyes the size of saucers.

McAllister turned so her back was to Noah. She pitched her voice low to prevent him from hearing. It’s locked, Boss.

No harm in me checking it out. Stay with him and be calm. Duncan moved off toward the little cabin. It was more of a shack, really. He doubted there was more than one room inside. A battered metal chimney protruded from the roof, which was covered in shingles that had seen better days. A new-looking padlock adorned the door. He slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves and tugged, but it didn’t give. On instinct, he took out his phone, snapped a picture, and slipped it back in his pocket.

He circled the cabin. A few windows, no more doors. He was about to decide McAllister was right when he noticed a small gap at the bottom of a window. He took a shot of it, then tugged. The pane slid up, mostly noiselessly, with only one sticking point. Not what he would have expected from a place that looked as though no one had been there in decades. There was no screen. Hello, Maddie? This is Trooper Jim Duncan from the State Police. Anyone in there?

No answer, but a familiar scent wafted out. More than leaves were decaying inside.

It didn’t take much effort to hoist himself through the window. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, he made out a pale figure, tousled dark red hair across her face, but it didn’t obscure the scarf tied around her throat. She was practically naked, only a g-string and a bra on her curvaceous young body. Out of habit,